And You Are Only Just Beginning
by Citizenjess
Summary: Charles resumes his role as headmaster at the Xavier Institute, and also copes with the task of rebuilding the mansion, keeping track of old acquaintances, and dealing with a very moody Scott Summers. Takes place after 3x02.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Charles resumes his role as headmaster at the Xavier Institute, and also copes with the task of rebuilding the mansion, keeping track of old acquaintances, and dealing with a very moody Scott Summers. Title is from Nick Cave's "O Children."

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><p><strong>And You Are Only Just Beginning<strong>

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><p>Seeing the dilapidated remains of his home is probably the most shocking part; he's not surprised that Wolverine and Scott have managed to keep the majority of the children together and safe, and to recoup those that happened to get caught in the crossfire of the battle with the Sentinels. He has to be filled in on all that has transpired in his absence, but some quick glimpses through Jean's mind, mostly, allows him to crowdsource a general knowledge base for himself.<p>

Fortunately, the Xavier mansion has very good insurance and accident contingency plans, and so it doesn't take long to get workers in here, mostly for the stuff that Hank can't cajole a bunch of eager, anxious teenagers to do. At the end of each day, Charles carefully roots around in their minds for any granule of knowledge that they're working for mutants, and removes it, carefully smoothing over whatever gaps have been left in its absence. It's a small bit of recourse, particularly in the wake of the general public now understanding that mutants do, in fact, exist; but, Charles thinks, every little bit helps.

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><p>Magneto contacts him, as usual, from an undisclosed location, his voice low and concerned. "I heard what happened," he says, and Charles can tell that it's awkward for him to get the words out. "I ... I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't know ... if I had realized what Mystique had done ..."<p>

Charles sighs. "I don't blame you for what you could have done if several things had been different," he offers, and Magneto is silent for several seconds. "I'm projecting my frustration from fielding this same line of thought from my students onto you," Charles tacks on eventually. He winces. "Sorry."

"No apology necessary." The exchange rebalances their equilibrium, and Charles decides to take his chances.

"Why did you do it, Magnus?" His voice is hushed now, and a bit unhappy. "What could possibly be accomplished by putting us all in danger? You've said yourself in the past that it would do more harm than good."

Magneto is silent anew. "I wanted to beat the government at its own game," he finally says. "They play their hand, with those robots of theirs, and now I've played mine."

"Yes," Charles agrees, his voice rising slightly, "but in doing so, you've endangered every mutant on the planet. Is it really worth that?"

Magneto sighs, and Charles can practically see him taking off his tell-tale helmet and rubbing at his temples. "I'm not sure," he admits eventually, and Charles licks his lips.

"You're safe for now, then, yes?" he asks. He thinks for a moment, and then adds: "And Pietro is with you, I assume? I've heard that the Brotherhood has been particularly floundering since Mystique's capture, and since he was their only direct contact for you, I wonder ..."

"Everything is fine, Charles," Magneto cuts in, and then the call disconnects. Charles replaces the phone heavily on the receiver, and stares at his hands.

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><p>He's made his peace with Wolverine, of course. Logan admits to being horrified at his lack of ability to sniff out Mystique, and Charles is quick to point out that they were all fooled, and that, perhaps, the bigger lesson is not to become too complacent with one's abilities, lest the defeat seems even more painful. Logan leaves it, seemingly satisfied, at that.<p>

Scott is another story, however. Though he's the first person Charles sees after coming out of the compression chamber - the young man whispers "ssshh, Professor, nice and easy, no sudden movements, you're safe, now" and cradles his head and neck gingerly - Scott seems to make himself notably scarce for the immediate days and weeks afterwards, and Charles is remiss to figure out why.

Still, he refuses to pry into Scott's mind, assuming that, when Scott is ready, he knows where to find him. Sure enough, Scott shows up randomly in his office one afternoon, and Charles welcomes him warmly. "Sit down, please. What can I do for you, Scott?"

Scott, however, remains standing. "I know I haven't been around much," he mumbles, and Charles can see his hands grip tightly at one of the spare chairs in his study, knuckles whitening. He can't see the young man's eyes, but assumes that he is nervous. "It was kind of intentional," Scott continues, and Charles nods.

"I presumed you needed time to process everything," he returns. He rests his hands placidly on his lap and looks up at the young man's face, at his grim expression. "In any case, Scott, I did want to take the time to thank you, personally, for all that you did in my absence. It was not a task I willingly gave you, of course, but you handled it admirably. You kept all of the children safe, and what's more, you were adept at sniffing out the fox in our hen house, so to speak. Mystique had everybody else fooled. But not you. I am grateful for that."

Scott's mouth twitches, and Charles watches him twirl the chair he's gripping around rather violently before taking a seat. "It wasn't right," he murmured angrily, his shoulders slumped. Slowly, Charles advances on the young man in his wheelchair, coming to rest at a comfortable enough distance, but one where he can still lightly grasp Scott's shoulder.

"What wasn't right, Scott?"

"Her," Scott spits. "Mystique. As you," he clarifies. "She just. She looked like you; spoke like you; but it didn't feel right. None of it did; the way she kept barking at me, and trying to push Jean to use Cerebro, and how little she cared about the other students, and the whole Brotherhood team-up thing ..." He trails off angrily, and Charles can feel his eyes blazing, even though he cannot see them through Scott's red lenses. "She didn't make me feel safe," Scott concludes, and an errant tear slips down his cheek. He brushes it angrily away. "She wasn't you, Professor."

"Oh, Scott," Charles murmurs, and allows the young man to lunge into his embrace, Scott's back shaking with miniscule sobs, with emotion he's likely been bottling for weeks. "I hope you will always feel safe as long as I'm here," he concludes, and Scott nods, his face still pressed into Charles' shoulder.

Eventually, his rage peters off, and he sits up again, spent, panting a little, and bites his lip ruefully, gesturing at Charles' jacket. "Sorry, you probably didn't put that on expecting me to wipe snot all over it," he frowns, and Charles laughs.

"It will survive," he says, and Scott nods and stands up. "Thank you again, Scott," he says sincerely, and the young man smiles.

"I'm glad you're back, Professor," he says, and strides carefully to the door. "Later," he says, and then he's gone, the air tinged now with newfound relief. Charles sighs happily into it and returns to his desk. "I'm glad to be back," he murmurs, and relishes this temporary moment of peace.


	2. Charles and Scott Slash Snapshots

These next two bits are untitled drabbles/'ficlets that kind of are meant to go together. The first is sort of a take-off of the above 'fic, and is Charles/Scott slash, rated T. The second is basically also Charles/Scott, except it's Mystique-as-Charles, and essentially takes place before/is meant to act as something of a justification for Scott's eagerness/desperation in the first. The second one could be considered dub-con (and UNDERAGE, since Scott is maybe 17-18); rated M to be on the safe side.

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><p>1.<p>

The kiss is slow and desperate, and accompanied by Scott's hands cupping the sides of his face. He doesn't know whether the young man squeezes his eyes shut or not, but the notion that he might be is incredibly endearing to Charles. Still, he pulls away gently and rubs at Scott's cheek. "That's not necessary," he says kindly, and Scott's lips thin.

"But I want to," he insists, and now his hands find Charles' shoulders, gripping them rather tightly. "I want to show you how much I appreciate you, Professor; how much you're needed here, so that you'll never leave us again." This last part is rasped as Scott begins to press kisses along his neck and jawline, and Charles bites out a response between soft moans.

"It wasn't exactly, aaahh, my c-choice to leave ..." he gasps, and then Scott shoves their faces together again; this time, his tongue probes inside of Charles' mouth, and Charles shoves him away, more firmly than he did previously. "Scott, no. Stop this now. You do not have to prove anything to me," he frowns, and Scott recoils slightly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I just thought ... because ... I'm sorry, okay?" He stands and brushes off his pants, squaring his shoulders. "Thank you for everything, Professor," he intones, a bit dully, and then strides quickly from the room, leaving Charles to wonder what, exactly, has just transpired.

2.

He's yelling again. Scott can count on one hand, with fingers to spare, the number of times the professor has out-and-out raised his voice, to him or any of the mutants at the institute, up to a few days ago, when it seems like everything has suddenly changed. Now, Charles seems frequently agitated. When Jean broke down the other night in his room, crying muffled sobs into his pillow about how the professor keeps pushing her well beyond her comfort zone with Cerebro, and how he kind of scares her, now, Scott almost says something, but Jean makes him swear that he won't. "He's just under a lot of stress. He knows more than we do about what's going on beyond the school," she pleads, her eyes still tearful, and Scott has to look away.

"Scott, you're not even trying. How are we supposed to effectively fight this upcoming threat if your reconnaissance leaves so much to be desired?" Another thing Scott has noticed is Charles' newfound predilection for dressing him down in front of the others; humiliation has never been Charles' preferred tactic of reprimand, and it bothers Scott that it seems to be, now. His face flushes in embarrassment, particularly when he hears someone tittering.

"I think Scott and I need to speak to one another alone," Charles frowns suddenly. Scott watches with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach as the room's other occupants leave; Jean, in particular, gives him one last searching glance before hurrying away.

"Scott," Charles says, staring up at him with a turgid, raised eyebrow, looking at least vaguely aggressive. "You're so angry these days. Whatever did I do to incur your considerable wrath?"

Scott's mouth opens, appalled. "You're the one who's always yelling at me lately!" he exclaims. The professor looks unimpressed.

"I correct you because you so obviously need it. I apparently have been too soft on you all these years, Scott. You can't perform the simple tasks I ask of you, and you're belligerent when I point this out." He pauses, and Scott realizes he's frightened to see how legitimately angry Charles is, and also that that anger is directed at him. "Perhaps I was wrong making you the leader of the X-Men," the professor tells him tartly. "Perhaps you can't handle it."

Scott refuses to cower. "I can handle anything you throw at me," he retorts, and Charles smirks meanly. "Try me," he continues, albeit with faux-bravado, but is surprised when Charles takes him up on it so immediately. He gestures for Scott to kneel, and Scott's mouth hangs open a bit. "Sir?" he asks.

Charles rolls his eyes in irritation. "I said, on your knees, Scott. Or do you simply not understand how to follow simple commands, now?"

Scott sighs and crouches near Charles' legs. "It's just, you've never made a big point of 'commanding' us before," he shrugs, and Charles seems to straighten in his chair a little.

"In any case," Charles says nonchalantly. "I think we can reach some sort of collaboration." He begins unfastening his trousers, and Scott looks up at him, alarmed.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Come now, Scott, surely you aren't that naive." Charles' expression is mirthful. "I know for a fact that you and Jean don't always follow my open-door policy."

Scott's head spins a little. "I ... you've never ... if this is what you want, Professor," he sighs eventually, and Charles takes his zipper down the rest of the way, verifying that, yes, it is what he wants, freeing his cock for easy access. Scott licks his lips to wet them, and then leans in, feeling Charles' hands in his hair, guiding him with not much gentleness. "No teeth, Scott," Charles barks, and Scott concentrates on doing this, on pleasing him. He's never actually been in this position before, but he decides when Charles starts moaning and bucking a little in his seat that he must be doing an okay job, and keeps going.

Charles shoves his head down repeatedly, and Scott can feel hair tickling at his nose, and tries not to sneeze or inhale too hard. Eventually, a bitter taste invades his mouth; Charles' hand is still holding his head in place, so he has no other recourse than to swallow, wincing a little. Then Charles releases him and he pulls away, and has a sudden urge to brush his teeth.

"Good, Scott." Charles' voice is slightly sated now, and Scott feels disgusted. He shuffles himself into a standing position. "You may go. I'll let you know when I've use for you again," he smirks, and Scott nods and stumbles a little towards the door, feeling Charles' gaze bore into him. "Yes, Sir," he mumbles, and Charles' uncharacteristically cruel laughter follows him out the door.


End file.
